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Today is the feast day of Thomas the Apostle, famously known as “Doubting Thomas.” In the modern world, Thomas is remembered as the Apostle who said he would not believe in Jesus’ resurrection unless he touched His crucified hands and put his fingers into the stab wound in the Lord’s side. Jesus granted his request, and the rest is, literally, history. Thomas became a lesson to us all and a reminder that living a Christian life requires us to take some things on faith. Trust, without the “verify.”

Thomas is mentioned at least two other times in the Gospels. First, when Jesus announced that they were going to see Lazarus (who had fallen ill and died). Thomas said to the other disciples, “Let us go and die with him,” knowing that they were returning to an area where official hostility to Jesus was high. And the third mention was during the last supper, when Thomas, probably speaking the doubt that everyone else in the room felt, admitted to Jesus that he did not know “the way” to heaven that Jesus described. This gave Jesus the opportunity to reveal that He Himself is the Way, the Truth and the Life.

There is some dispute about what happened to Thomas after Jesus’ ascension. While it is generally believed that he brought the Gospel to parts of India, it is unclear where and how he died.

Saint Thomas was used by Jesus to show us that our doubts are an inevitable part of our faith. We accept some pretty outrageous things, things that people who insist on hard proofs will never accept. As St. Paul says, “We walk by faith, and not by sight,” (2 Cor 5:7).

Learning to accept those doubts and to move beyond them is one of the first battles that a developing Christian must face, although “battle” is probably the wrong way to say it. Because our challenge is to stop fighting it and accept it. To let Jesus be a part of our life despite the lack of tangible physical evidence. Once we do that, the spiritual evidence will come pouring into our souls. When we give our doubts to Jesus in faith, he gives back to us proof in the form of spiritual grace. And like a torrent on a grass fire, spiritual grace extinguishes doubt.

So, accept those nagging questions. Admit that you wonder why certain things are the way they are. Don’t hide them, set them down at the table the next time you and Jesus are having a quiet cup of coffee. And then be prepared to be amazed.

The topic of evangelization has always made me squirm. Jesus told us quite clearly to “Go and make disciples of all nations.” (MT 28:19) Jesus’ words and the work of the Catholic Church for centuries is clearly-focused on taking the Good News to all corners of the world. Our work isn’t done until everyone has been given an opportunity to join the Body of Christ, and it’s my job to present those opportunities.

But for a quiet little bookworm like me, that’s scary. The idea of trying to win over an atheist or any non-believer is intimidating; in large part because I don’t feel equipped with “the answers.” What if they ask me something hard, like the definition of Consubstantial, or the Biblical origin of Mary’s virginity? I can’t even recite the Ten Commandments in the correct order.

And there’s the whole 21st Century Political Correctness thing. We have imposed a gag order on ourselves in the name of civility. We don’t talk about religion or politics in polite company. It is a modern rule that we have to avoid saying something that someone might be uncomfortable hearing. (This topic is a whole conversation in itself that we’ll get to another time.)

Once again, my favorite Apostle has come to my rescue. In last Sunday’s second reading, St. Peter tells us that evangelization should be a modest, humble experience. One of my most beloved lines in the Bible comes from the First Book of Peter. In Chapter 3, he tells us that we should “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope,” but that we should also “Do it with gentleness and reverence, keeping your conscience clear, so that when you are maligned, those who defame your good conduct in Christ may themselves be put to shame.” The whole book is a good, short read on the topic of humble evangelization.

I don’t have to stand on a soapbox at the corner of Main Street, singing the praises of God. But I do have to live a good life; I do have to love everyone around me (friend and foe). I have to be kind to such an extreme degree that people may think I’m some sort of weirdo, but I don’t have to shout about it. I just need to do it. And if anyone asks, I have to give credit where credit is due: Jesus made me do it.

Perhaps as important as all of that, I also need to spend time in prayer so that I have the explanation if someone asks for it. Could I answer the question right now if someone asked me? Why am I absolutely, rock-solid, no doubt, Hallelujah!-convinced that Jesus is God’s only “begotten” son and that we all have a share in the eternal kingdom? Perhaps that’s an even more difficult task.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus told us that, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” is the second-greatest commandment, second only to “Love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” Everything Jesus taught and (according to Jesus himself) everything in the scriptures are based on these commandments. Everything.

According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, “a society ensures social justice when it provides the conditions that allow individuals to obtain what is their due.” Furthermore, the Church recognizes that the rights of the individual come before those of society and must be respected by society in order for that society to maintain any moral legitimacy. A government that is not built upon the foundation of this golden rule is a government doomed to failure.

And what is our individual role beneath the umbrella of social justice? We are each called to look upon our neighbor (with NO exception) as “another self,” entitled to the means of living life with dignity. It is our obligation to live our lives in community with our neighbors; we are obligated to see to one another’s needs. The Church refers to this as “Solidarity,” and points out that social, economic, political and even international problems cannot be resolved in any way except by practicing the principles of solidarity.

I had known all of this, in one form or another, for my whole life. Being told that God wants us to love our neighbor is hardly a revelation. But what strikes me for its simplicity and depth is the Church’s contention that all of the world’s problems could be resolved by these words alone. And furthermore, none of the world’s problems will be resolved without them.

There’s a tendency in the world today to separate faith from society. To live out our religion within the four walls of our churches and our homes. To leave our Catholicism at home when we head off to work. But when we do that we are leaving our most important tools behind. The principles of Christian charity are just as essential in our work lives as they are in our home lives. And right now, couldn’t our world use a lot more “love your neighbor”?

Jesus doesn’t want us to waste time worrying. In St. Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus used a significant chunk of his Sermon on the Mount to address worry. He said, “…do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear.” (See MT 6:24-34 for the whole message. Spend some time with it; it’s worth studying.) In Luke’s Gospel, Martha tried to get Jesus to tell her sister to stop listening to the conversation and help serve the guests, but Jesus replied, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things; one thing is needful. Mary has chosen the good portion; which shall not be taken away from her.” (LK 10:41-42).

Admit it now; you spend a lot of your time being Martha, don’t you? I know that I do. One look at my calendar for the week can send me scurrying about the house or my office, making lists, worrying, picking things up, worrying, drafting memos to my staff, worrying, rehearsing, and worrying, worrying, worrying. Fretting about the future seems to be the Great American Pastime. But it’s such a waste of valuable Christian moments.

In most cases, the things we’re worrying about never come to pass. Even when the worst happens, we come through the other side and are better for the experience. A few years ago, I was dreading losing a job. Sure enough; I lost that job. It was a rotten job, and shortly after I lost it, I found a much better one. What did the worrying add to the mix? Nothing; except a little indigestion.

If anyone in the world’s history had a right to worry, it would have been Jesus. He knew how his story was going to end. If you knew someone was going to arrest you for a crime you didn’t commit, humiliate you in front of the entire city, beat you while your friends all ran away and then nail you to a tree until you died…maybe you could worry. But, until the evening it actually happened, Jesus was laughing with his friends and going about his business. He had things to do and worrying was not going to help get those things done.

God knows how much we can handle and He knows what we need. He gives us just enough of both. Enough food and shelter to get through the day and enough challenges to help us grow. We have the ability to put more on our plate; more food or more troubles. In both cases, all we are accomplishing is making ourselves less fit for our mission.

In Chapter 5 of Mark’s gospel, Jesus drives a legion of demons out of a man. Overjoyed, the man begs to go along with Jesus, to drop everything and follow him like the Apostles did. Instead, Jesus tells him no, “Go home to your own people, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.” Sometimes our missionary journey is to our own dinner table or family room.

My personal Catholic journey didn’t start in a church. Well, I guess technically and formally it did. I was baptized in a church and received the sacraments there. But my true understanding of Jesus and the seeds that sprouted into a loving relationship with him began at our family dinner table. My parents were devout, old-fashioned Catholics. During the 1950s they were part of a Catholic youth movement and in their retirement years they were frequent attendees of Catholic retreats. But most of all, my parents loved to talk. Our dinner table was almost always a lively place of conversation. And often that conversation was about religion. Because of their upbringing, both Mom and Dad had a pretty fair grasp of the details of Catholicism and they were also willing to express their opinions and to listen to mine. (They also didn’t hesitate to disagree with me when my opinion was on the flakey side).

Whenever you talk to a person who is passionate about their topic, it is often the passion, rather than any specific fact or statement of opinion that sways you to their point of view. And my parents were passionate about Christianity in general and Catholicism specifically. Looking back it is clear that their passion laid the foundation for my own faith.

My parents were not famous. They were not grand orators, or studied authors or theologians. It’s doubtful that they are on the Vatican’s short list for Canonization. They were simply two people who loved Jesus and who loved their children. They passed on their love.

I am a hypocrite. I claim to follow Jesus and to live my life according to his word, but that’s not true. In at least one way, I am defying the will of the Lord. “Sell everything you own and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.” (Luke 18:22) I can’t do that.

I truly struggle with this. I know that possessions occupy too much of my time. I am not wealthy, but I am comfortable. I own two houses, two cars, nice clothes, books, electronics, et al. They distract me from living a life of service to others; in other words, from living according to God’s word. But I also know that I will not give them up. I have a family to support; I have bills to pay. These things seem necessary parts of my life.

I have put this on God’s altar. I don’t have the courage to literally offer him all that I possess, but this much I can do: I offered up my fear of poverty, my love for material things, and I offered him my unwillingness. I have prayed to God to make me willing to give these things up.

And I prayed for trust. Trust, because that same bible chapter says that we will receive 100 times more of these things in this lifetime, plus eternal life in the next. Trust because later in that same chapter, when people say, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus responds, “For man this is impossible, but for God nothing is impossible.” God is not calling us to live a life of poverty; he is calling us to live a life of complete trust in his will. Trust in His will, not our own. That is the key.

Because it’s not the possessions, it’s the attachment to those possessions. It’s not the money, it’s the love of the money. It’s not the clinging to financial security, it’s the lack of trust in God.

Lately, I’ve been thinking that Easter is when we should make our new years resolutions. It is the beginning of the church year, after all. And it marks the beginning of new life for Christians. What better time for resolving to live one or more parts of your life in closer harmony with Jesus?

I think this year I will resolve not to fear. Why fear? Because fear keeps us away from being close to God, and fear is also a sign of that distance. If we’re afraid, we’re not connected to God.

Think about it. Think about the time you were worried about your job, or your health, or your spouse’s job, or health, or your son’s relationship, or the price of a barrel of oil or unrest in the Middle East. Think about the worst possible outcome in each case. You or someone you love ends up on the other side of eternity. That’s it, The End; the big D.

And now let’s think about the next question: do you believe in God, in Jesus, in Heaven? Do you believe all that stuff you claim to believe every Sunday? Yes? Good; me too.

So let’s stir those two ideas together and ponder them for a bit. The worst thing that can happen to you or to your loved ones on this earth is you leave it. But you know that when you leave it, you’ll be with Jesus. And every tear is wiped away, every pain, every suffering, every worry ceases to exist. You will be in the presence of God, the One we describe as “Love.” Sit back and think about that.

When Jesus was arrested, the Apostles scattered like sheep. Peter was so terrified of what was going on that he denied, with curse words, that he had ever known Jesus. But then after the Lord’s resurrection the Apostles told everyone they came upon the good news. And they wouldn’t quit, even under penalty of death. The authorities arrested them, threatened them, beat them, jailed them, and the Apostles sang, and laughed and went right back to preaching. What changed?

Jesus changed. Jesus changed the rules by showing that we are not creatures of the Earth; we are creatures of a love-filled eternity. He showed us that death is the wonderful beginning, not the horrible end. Jesus conquered death. He also conquered fear. It is Easter; Jesus lives and fear no longer exists.

Lately I’ve been realizing how much of a role fear has played my life. It has impacted everything from my job to my spiritual life to my choice of recreational activities. I’ve passed over opportunities to apply for jobs because I feared that I would be embarrassed if I wasn’t interviewed. I spent decades treading spiritual water because there were some nagging doubts that I was afraid to face for fear of God smiting me. In my 20s, I gave up downhill skiing because I was afraid of falling down and hurting myself.

Some of these fears are rational. Given that I am a clod, downhill skiing was probably a poor choice of outdoor activity for me. Hiking was much more my speed, both literally and figuratively. But just about all of my other fears accomplished nothing. And held me back from everything.

Way back in one of my earliest posts in this blog, I related how God coaxed me into facing my doubts about Catholicism. With my Divine Buddy lighting the way, I was able to peek into that dark closet and discover that there really were no theological monsters hiding there. In fact, I discovered an incredible community of joyful people, and a religion that is full, complete, and a perfect fit for me. It wasn’t a flaw of the Church that was keeping me from the fullness of God’s kingdom. It was my own chicken-heartedness.

And then there’s faith. Quiet, humble, steady, faith. Faith that Jesus was talking to me when he said, “Do not worry,” “I go to prepare a place for you,” and “Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” The more you pray and study, the more you realize God has your back…and your front…and both sides, and up and down too. What exactly is left that’s worth being afraid of?

Fear will always be a part of us. We were born and raised with human instincts, which (assuming the scientists are right) evolved from the apes and before them lizardy things and before them little bitty bacterium who were food for larger bacterium. Fear is a mechanism the little things evolved to avoid being eaten by the big things.

But faith will also always be a part of us. Faith is knowing that God is within us no matter what we think or how many big things want to gobble us up. God is there and wants nothing more than to forgive us no matter how low we’ve fallen. If fear is the dark, faith is the light switch. All you have to do is reach out for it. And then enjoy the view in the daylight.

I spend a lot of my time plotting. Often the plots are harmless, sometimes they’re useful or even positive, like plotting out my day or scheming with my children to do something special for the best mom on Earth on Mother’s Day. Human beings are born to plot. We are always trying to map out one part or another of the future.

I will have to admit, though, that I don’t spend much time plotting how to get to Heaven. While my next promotion or my financial retirement get hours of think time and pages of spreadsheet “what-ifs,” Heaven is treated as more of an ad hoc thing. I take being a faithful Christian on a day-by-day, moment-by-moment basis.

Is that right or wrong? I can’t decide. I know that God asks me to be faithful, and that Jesus opened the door to Heaven for me 2,000 years before I was born. Eternal life is a gift that God wants us to simply accept; we don’t earn it. The books of the Bible are filled with the clear message that God has our tomorrows covered for us, and that we should not fear or worry. In fact, fear is a warning sign that your faith has sprung a leak. And isn’t planning just a natural reaction to the fear of an uncertain future?

But do we need a Heaven Plan? Should we be plotting our good works, and our prayer time, and our study? Or should we be focused solely on living in the moment? Is living our best Christian life right now, in this chair, covered with this blanket (because I live in Wisconsin, where it apparently is going to be winter forever!!!) all that really matters?

Maybe being part of the body of Christ is not a journey at all. Maybe Christianity needs to describe HOW we do things, not WHAT we do. There’s no need to plan because everything we do should be pleasing to God, or we shouldn’t do it. We can’t plan for the end of our Earthly life because we really don’t know when it will come. And, more importantly, if our “how” is right, then the “when” doesn’t make any difference at all.